Happy Anniversary?
by insertcleverandwittytitlehere
Summary: *Fluffy Deamus.* One year since the Battle of Hogwarts has passed, and Dean and Seamus are enjoying their new life together. But, has Seamus truly forgotten the most important celebration of his young relationship?


A/N: This is Beater 2 of the Chudley Cannons checking in for Season 5's Practice Round of the QLFC.

Beater 2: Write about your OTP forgetting something important. (Anniversary, birthday, important appointment, etc.)

 **Additional prompts:** dialogue, "Keep looking at me like that, I dare you." and dialogue, "It's not what it looks like!"

 **Word count before A/N:** 2690 words

 **I am not JK. This is her world.**

* * *

"Hey," Dean stood in the doorway to the living room. "I've gotta run out and get a few things for this weekend. You need anything?"

Seamus, who had been staring out at their neighbor, pulled his eyes away from the window. He looked Dean up and down, admiring his long legs, his jean jacket hugging his chest with each breath. His shoulders. His hair. The way the red-and-gold umbrella hung loosely from his long fingers. Seamus could see paint on those digits. Drying and cracked from hours of work.

Seamus's eyes landed on Dean's face. Sharp edges met sweet lips. His rugged jawline carved out the perfect chin. His bushy brows guarded perfect eyes (black like midnight, lights reflecting like stars). Seamus had to blink… what did Dean just say?

"Uh, pardon?"

Dean smirked, "Keep looking at me like that, I dare you."

"Well, since it's a dare." Seamus leaned forward in his seat, forcing his eyes to widen as much as possible.

"Mature," Dean laughed. "Seriously, Shay. You need anything? For all that fuss at the market yesterday, I still forgot onions."

"It wasn't much of a fuss," Seamus quipped.

"No, I suppose half a dozen radishes exploding in a Muggle-centric store was hardly a fuss."

"Exactly."

"Right," Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm off. Can't make onion dip without onions."

Then he turned, taking his beautiful face with him. Seamus sank into his chair by the window, his eyes instinctively finding his neighbor again. Alas, Mr. Arundel had retreated into his home, the rain becoming too much for him to complete the task of changing his car tire.

Seamus looked back toward the door frame where Dean had stood. He sighed, content and filled with what he could only describe as pure joy. For so long the wizarding world had been gripped with terror, but now, almost one year later, to the date, wizards could sigh with contentment and be filled with joy.

It was Friday, and that weekend, he and Dean would be participating in many a victory-related party. Tonight was Hogwarts's official party. Saturday would be at the Weasley's. And Sunday, he and the rest of his classmates would be getting together to reminisce, remember, and honor the ones who died.

Seamus had a lot to be grateful for since the Final Battle. For one thing, he lived. There were some days, during the Carrows' regime, that he thought he'd never make it. Then, his parents lived. No scratches, no inquiries, even though his da was a Muggle. It was all over, with You-Know-Who dead and all. And finally, Dean. Dean was alive and well, perfect in every way, and in love with him. And Seamus loved him back.

Of course, in the year that they had been together as a couple, things weren't always perfect. They had their tiffs and rows. They had their extreme lows, especially at the beginning, but they made it through, and Seamus couldn't feel more at ease with life.

He and Dean had found a nice little place to live, where Dean could work on his paintings and Seamus could safely work on his Potions. As an apprentice Healer, he had to work extra carefully so as not to blow up his surroundings. (So far, the neighbors believed he was an enthusiastic chef.)

But the best part of the last year was living with Dean, kissing Dean, loving Dean. These 365 days since they had finally gotten together had been the best days of Seamus's young life. Nothing could beat a full year of—

"Shite!" Seamus jumped out of his chair. Last year, 365 days, 12 months. "Shite, shite, shite."

Dean wasn't getting onions. There were bloody onions in the kitchen. Seamus knew it. Dean was preparing their anniversary dinner! And Seamus had _forgotten._

How could he have forgotten such an important date?

Seamus ran his hands through his hair. This was impossible. Was it already May 1st? Was he so far lost in his own world filled with Dean and happiness that he forgot about the day when he got Dean and then, subsequently, the happiness?

Seamus quickly ducked his head into the fireplace. All was not lost yet. Somehow, in the few moments he had before Dean returned, Seamus would make it a night they would never forget.

"Lavender!" Seamus called once his head had been flooed into her kitchen. "Lav! It's an emergency!"

There was a crash, followed by frantic footsteps toward the kitchen. Lavender slid on her feet into the room, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair half sudsy with soap. Clutched in her hand was her wand, ready to attack.

"Seamus, what is it, are you okay, where's Dean?" Lav said in one breath.

"He's gone, I screwed up. I need your help," Seamus said, before ducking back into his own home. He waited, still crouched down by the fireplace. Moments later Lavender was stepping out of green flames and into his living room.

"What happened?"

"I forgot our anniversary, Lav. Our _anniversary_!"

"And he stormed out?"

"What?" Seamus stood. "No. He doesn't know I forgot yet, so I need your help getting everything together."

Lavender crossed her arms. "You made it sound like he left you."

"No, I didn't." Seamus grabbed Lav by the sleeve and pulled her toward the kitchen. She would know the perfect recipe for a quick dinner while Seamus tried to figure out the best present possible.

"Yes," she stopped him, "you did. I was in the shower you know."

Seamus felt his heart sink. Dean, the loveable git, liked to shop the Muggle way. He had a car and everything. Seamus had already wasted the time it took his boyfriend to drive to the market. The minutes were ticking, and his half-baked plan was starting to crumble.

"So you won't help?" he asked.

Lavender shook her wet locks. "Of course I'm help, but you owe me big time for this one, Finnigan."

"Brilliant! If you could start to whip up dinner, I'm going to make something for him. We don't have much time," Seamus led Lav into the kitchen, where there was a mix of potions and ingredients alongside recipes and ingredients. Seamus, instead of straightening things out for Lav, quickly retreated to Dean's studio.

"Thanks again!" he said over his shoulder. He had this. Everything was going to work out splendidly.

Inside Dean's studio, Seamus got to work. He found a blank canvas and began painting out lines and circles, his hope to create something beautiful. Normally, Seamus did not enter the studio without permission. Dean was an old soul, private and reserved. He would only show Seamus completed pieces he felt happy with, and even then, they never hung the artwork in their home.

A tiny sense of apprehension grew in Seamus's stomach. He shouldn't be doing this _in_ Dean's studio. He should take what he needed and go into the living room.

It took everything in his power not to look around him, and when he had finally exited the studio with the supplies, Seamus almost felt good about what he had done.

"Strong moral fiber," he smiled to himself. He set off to continue his masterpiece.

Ten minutes later, Lavender popped her head into the living room.

"What is _that_?" she asked.

"It's Dean," Seamus said, rubbing hair away from his eyes. "Obviously it's not done yet. How's dinner?"

Lavender's eyes remained on his anniversary present. "I, um, wanted to know where the salt was. Why is Dean purple?"

Seamus squinted at his painting. "I thought that was brown..."

"No, that's purple."

"Oh well," Seamus painted a long stroke across the top of the painting. "It'll be abstract. Check the cabinet over the sink."

"What?"

"For salt."

"Ah! Right." And Lavender was gone.

"Purple?" Seamus squinted at the paint lines again. Maybe Lavender needed glasses. It was definitely brown.

But… it was missing something. Seamus stepped away from the picture, his eyes scanning the lines he had created. It came to him, then, suddenly, that the painting should be moving like a photograph.

"Brilliant!" He pulled out his wand, pointed it at the painting, and watched as his spell accidentally sent the whole thing up in flames. "Not brilliant!"

An expert in accidental fires, Seamus grabbed for his fire retardant gloves. He had a pair in every room, two in the kitchen, as per Dean's request. At first, Seamus wasn't really fond of the idea, but as the months passed by, the Seamus felt like the gloves were a good decision.

Quickly, he brought the painting into the kitchen.

"Seamus!"

"No time! Open the door!"

Lavender quickly opened the door leading into their small backyard. Seamus threw the painting onto the ground and began to stomp on it. The rain bounced off of Seamus's head and shoulders, pooling around the embers of the painting. Once the canvas was no longer on fire, Seamus picked it up to look at the damage.

It was blackened in a few places and dented in others, but he felt like it was salvageable. A quick reparo would do the trick, and maybe he could still get the painted-Dean to move around.

Seamus grabbed his wand again, this time staying in the rain just in case it went awry. Luckily, the painting started to surface, the charred edges disappearing.

"Hey!"

Seamus looked up. Lavender had already gone back inside, surely to continue her work on dinner. The voice instead came from the neighbor, the one from earlier, who was changing a flat tire. The man's t-shirt was soaked through, his khaki pants clinging to his knees. In his hands was the tire itself, a gaping hole on top. Seamus saw that his neighbor was taking the wheel to his shed for storage, the doors of the building swinging in the wind.

"What was that you just did there?" Seamus's neighbor asked. "How'd you do that?"

"Do—do what, sir?" Seamus stepped in front of the painting, hiding it from his neighbor's suspicious gaze.

"That board… it was on fire and now it looks brand new."

Seamus smiled weakly, "I haven't any idea what you're talking about."

"No, no, look," his neighbor dropped the tire and stepped over the flowerbed barrier between their yards. "Look here—"

There was a loud boom from inside, followed by a scream. Pots and pans went crashing to the floor, and Seamus, forgetting that he had just performed magic in front of Mr. Arundel, dropped the painting and ran inside.

"Lav?" he yelled. A large, gelatinous blob was invading the kitchen, pressing slowly against the counters and the wall. Lavender was trapped between the oven and the blob, her feet stuck inside its gooey center, her face blackened from the explosion.

"Did it ever occur to you to _label_ your potions?" her eyes were wide with fury. Little balls of goo stuck in her drying hair, and her bathrobe was ripped along the bottom edge.

"I don't have to; I know what they are."

"Well I didn't and now I'm trapped!"

"What in the world…" Seamus turned to see his neighbor standing behind him. Clasped in his hands was the painting of Dean good as new. "How… what is that... How..."

"Whoa!" Seamus put his hands out to catch the sopping wet man as he fell to the floor. "Bollocks!"

Of all the days for someone to stumble upon magic, it just had to be the day Seamus forgot his anniversary. Little time remained for him to get everything together for his Dean, but a little goo monster and a security breach of the magic world wouldn't stop Seamus. No way. Not that day.

Seamus began rolling up his sleeves, ready to work.

* * *

Dean placed the key inside the front door, happy that his task had gone off without a hitch. Yesterday, when he and Seamus had gone to the market, Dean was certain he could never go back again after the chaos they had made. True, it was only some radishes, but Muggles were a sensitive folk. No one likes when their day gets thrown off skelter.

Not that Dean blamed Seamus, of course. He loved Seamus with every fiber of his being, pyrotechnic inclinations and all. He still couldn't believe he had been so lucky as to kiss Seamus, let alone have Seamus to keep. The last year of Dean's life had truly been a remarkable one. Dean felt like he was always walking in the clouds when Seamus was around.

The inside of his house smelled like boiled cabbage, which wasn't exactly off-putting, just unpleasant.

"Shay?" Dean yelled, placing his bag of onions on the sofa. By Seamus's chair, Dean noticed streaks of purple paint running up the arms. A solitary paint brush lay on the floor, still wet. "Shay, what happened?"

"Dean?" Seamus's voice came from the kitchen. "Don't—don't worry about a thing. Just st- stay out there!"

That wouldn't do. Dean opened the kitchen door only to wish he hadn't.

Seamus, his beautiful Seamus, was covered in little marks of paint. He was dragging their unconscious neighbor by the feet towards the open backdoor with one hand. In his other, Seamus held one of Dean's canvases, but it most certainly wasn't one of Dean's paintings. A purple octopus was set in the center of the painting, with red, demonic fangs coming out of each arm. Meanwhile, to Dean's right, Lavender Brown, dressed in a tattered robe with soap running down her face, was busily stabbing a giant glob of green goo with a steak knife as it climbed up her leg.

"It's—it's not what it looks like!" Seamus yelled, dropping Mr. Arundel's sopping wet boots.

"I don't even know what this is supposed to look like," Dean said, his eyes watching Seamus's frantic ones. The man in front of him was a second from losing it, tears welling up in his gorgeous blue eyes. Dean loved it when Seamus looked at him so long that he forgot what was actually happening. It made his heart skip beats when Shay touched him with his rough hands. His cool lips. Dean held his arms wide, "Come here."

Within seconds, Seamus was in Dean's arms, burrowing his head in Dean's chest. Dean held onto him, letting him relax before explaining whatever was going on.

"I wanted you to have a good anniversary dinner," Seamus finally mumbled into his shirt. "I forgot, and I tried to get everything set up perfectly for you."

"Anniversary dinner?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Seamus stepped back, his arms still around Dean's waist. "It's been a whole year of us."

Dean looked down into Shay's eyes and started laughing. "It's Thursday," he said.

Seamus looked hurt more than anything. "What's that got to do with—"

"Our anniversary. It's tomorrow."

"What?"

"Tomorrow. Friday," Dean smirked. "When we'll be at the Hogwarts celebration."

Seamus's eyes lit up, realization hitting him, and before Dean could ask anything else, his boyfriend was kissing him hard. Dean let his hands slide up into Shay's soft brown hair, his lips curling into a smile.

"Well that's all bright and good," Lavender chimed in. "And I'm truly happy for the both of you. But I could use a little fishing out here, you know."

"Oh, right!" Seamus pulled away from Dean, smiling sheepishly at her. "Might want to do that, yeah."

Once Mr. Arundel was safely back home, his memory modified to forget all that he had seen, Dean sank into the sofa beside Seamus.

"All in a day's work, I suppose." Seamus wrapped Dean in his arms. "What do you think of my painting?"

Dean looked above the fireplace where Seamus had insisted they hang his masterpiece. "What's it supposed to be?"

"That's you!"

"Why am I purple?"

"You're not, it's not," Seamus sighed. "It's brown."

"Oh, Shay," Dean turned to kiss Seamus on the nose. Together they sat late into the night, talking about anything and everything. And at midnight, they celebrated their first year together as any couple should.

By feeding their new green goo pet Seamus's portrait of Dean.


End file.
